


How Long Will I Love You

by vatrixsta



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, CSSS, CSSecret Santa 2k18, F/M, Married Couple, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-09-28 11:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17181920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vatrixsta/pseuds/vatrixsta
Summary: Emma Swan-Jones is determined to find out what's going on with her husband - even if it reveals a truth she isn't yet ready to face.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quilledcorsair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quilledcorsair/gifts).



> Written as part of the Captain Swan Secret Santa 2k18 for an utterly delightful person I've had a pleasure getting to know a bit over the last few weeks, who I hope to get to know better in 2019! She is NOT a traditional xmas fan, so instead of some fluffy Christmas treacle, she gets this ball of angst that I promise is going somewhere. I was hoping to finish this all in one go, but Emma wanted to angst a bit longer. To be updated as soon as I've found the time to finish it off, hopefully by the end of this weekend. MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!

Emma Swan-Jones was absolutely positive of one thing: her husband was hiding something. 

 

Killian was not the secretive type. He’d worn his heart on his sleeve as long as she’d known him, something that had caused them both a great deal of frustration early on in their courtship. Emma had been jaded single mother just trying to keep her and Henry’s head above water and Killian… well, he’d just been so steadfast, so  _ sure _ right from the start that it had freaked her out a little. The fact that he was Henry’s favorite author? That had definitely made his job of winning her heart a hell of a lot harder. 

 

So yes, she’d been the one pulling away, doubting, constantly testing him for the first few months of their relationship, something she felt bad about later but honestly couldn’t imagine any other way. Her walls had been sky high after, you know,  _ her whole fucking life,  _ being abandoned, foster care, all the people who made it clear they never wanted her and no one ever really would - then fucking  _ Neal _ and prison and Henry was the only good thing she got out of all that - no way would she get a charming British rogue who spent his free time writing children’s stories about a skewed take on Peter Pan. No, that was  _ not _ for her, no matter how much he tried to convince her that she and Henry were all he wanted. 

 

Except… he had. They built a life together. They got married. They moved around for a long time, three nomads looking for a place to plant roots as Emma’s work took her wherever the leads did and Henry was all too happy to continue home study and Killian could write from anywhere. He let her read his first drafts and she let him read over her shoulder when she was researching her skips. He was constantly challenging her and annoying her and being the best stepdad to Henry and just… he wasn’t perfect, but he also kind of was? She could barely remember what life was like before their twosome became three; didn’t really  _ want _ to remember. It felt like they’d always been together, the three of them, with Killian in charge of steering the ship, emotionally speaking. 

 

Maybe that was the real problem. Emma had gotten used Killian always being the grown up in the relationship and now that he was taking up the part of the sullen, moody teenager who  _ lied to her face _ when she asked him what was wrong, she didn’t know how to deal with it. 

 

Hadn’t he read the contract between them?  _ She _ was the moody teenager in the relationship, at least for a few more years, before Henry turned into an actual moody teenager. 

 

This had to stop. She was going to stop it. Be the bigger person. Not fall back on decades of rejection and shitty emotional behavior and lose the nerve to force him to talk to her. 

 

xxx

 

So yeah, she totally lost the nerve. Killian was sitting in the office, broodily staring at a blank computer screen and she tried to use the perfect opening. 

 

“Hey. Are the pages not cooperating?” 

 

It was smooth. She actually thought about it before she said it, not at all typical Emma behavior. She’d asked him about his writing before, when it seemed like he was in a bit of a funk and he’d always use the opportunity to escape for awhile, maybe take Henry to a movie or, if they were near water, to look at the boats by the harbor. Sometimes he’d compliment her - all,  _ your boy’s a marvel, Swan, nothing like a trip to the pier with the little spitfire to knock a spot of writer’s block into the dust. _ Over time, it became  _ our _ boy and her heart clenched with how easily the word rolled off his tongue and hers. 

 

So his response today was somewhat underwhelming. 

 

“What?” he asked, distracted, moody, dare she say - a bit twitchy. 

 

Emma’s eyes narrowed. Every hackle she has was rising. But this was her husband. She trusted him. She loved him, completely. So he was having an off week. She’d had her share of them and he bore them with grace. She was  _ not _ going to interrogate him like a suspect. 

 

“Let’s go out to dinner,” she said, trying to be positive. Henry was at a sleepover and maybe he was feeling like she was - a little out of sorts without their favorite playmate. She would ignore the fact that this behavior had been going on for weeks, pretty much, she realized, since they’d settled down in Boston. “Somewhere nice, with tablecloths where you can get handsy while we overpay for whatever’s labeled market price.”

 

Seafood and groping - two of her husband’s favorite treats. But when his eyes flickered, it wasn’t with the normal interest and good humor she expected. If she had to name the emotion that flashed behind those blue, blue eyes of his, a split second before his whole face shuttered to a neutral expression, she’d call it guilt. Maybe even a pinch of despair. 

 

“I’m sorry, Swan,” he said, definitely looking sorry, but not in a way she liked, “I should really keep plugging away at this.” He gestured at the keyboard with his prosthetic hand, the right scratching at the back of his neck like he had a rash. 

 

“Yeah. Me too. I’ll make us some pasta then,” she mumbled, tucking down how much his rejection and the fact that he was lying to her  _ hurt _ . 

 

She fled to the kitchen and threw together a simple dinner neither of them really touched. He escaped back to his office as soon as he could and she went to bed early, wondering what the hell was going on with the man she married.

 

xxx

 

Henry returned from his sleepover late the next day and since it was Sunday, he reminded Killian they were supposed to check out the docks, an activity they hadn’t had time for since they moved to town. Boston was both big and small and getting to specific parts of the city sometimes took a huge chunk of time unless you were on foot. That was why they’d splurged on an apartment that was pricey but perfect and if you squinted, just within their budget - Killian had a great nest egg from the book sales and would receive an advance as soon as he’d finished the first three chapters of his next book. Emma had been saving from the moment she graduated from waiting tables to bail bonds and their combined good financial habits had secured them three bedrooms, a top floor and a glorious view of the water. 

 

“ _ It’ll be perfect, Swan _ ,” Killian had said while they were still living from rental to rental. “ _ Our first little hideaway by the sea until you retire and we can live somewhere much quieter, with fewer bail jumpers needing your always pertinent attention.”  _

 

That was back when he was still sweet talking her like usual. God, she hoped his outing with Henry would help him settle. He was always calmer by the water and the view aside, she knew he wasn’t satisfied until he’d gotten a good lungful of salt air. 

 

She bided her time while they were out by doing laundry. Every time she passed the office - they shared it, but since his work dictated a quiet space a lot more than hers did, it was mostly Killian’s domain - she had to fight off the knee jerk urge she had to go snooping on his computer for answers. The doubt that was beginning to live in her breastbone was making it hard to remember how much she trusted Killian, like she’d never trusted anyone in her life. 

 

The urge to snoop was definitely going to get the better of her if she stayed in the apartment, so Emma quickly bundled up and grabbed her wallet and keys. They were out of eggs and a few other essentials. Besides, it was six weeks ‘til Christmas and with all the moving drama she hadn’t bought anything for Henry or Killian. She could at least do some in person recon before she came home and ordered them stuff online. 

 

She was putting away groceries when the apartment door banged shut. 

 

“Hey Kid,” she greeted Henry, noticing the lack of anyone else behind him. “Where’s Killian?” 

 

“He said he had an errand,” Henry huffed into the kitchen and noted Killian’s behavior with his usual tact and charm. “What crawled up his butt?” 

 

Emma rolled her eyes. “Nothing. Why do you ask?” 

 

He shrugged. “We were having a good time, we got ice cream and he was telling me about ships and Liam and it reminded me about my ancestry project for school. I asked him about his parents and he reminded me -  _ as if I didn’t know _ \- that he isn’t my biological father. We kind of… had a fight. He was trying to talk to me about  _ him _ .”

 

Emma paused with the Eggos halfway to the freezer.  _ Him _ . That was how Henry had referred to Neal since he was old enough to understand their history. Emma had no idea why Killian was suddenly bringing the subject up - as far as she knew, his feelings about Neal mirrored her own: if she ever ran into him in a dark alley, she’d at least bloody her knuckles on some part of his face. 

 

“Maybe Killian was just trying to make sure you didn’t want to talk about  _ him _ ,” Emma offered. “I haven’t exactly done the best job of keeping you a neutral third party where he’s concerned. It would be… normal… if you were curious about your dad.” The words were like ash on her tongue, but she forced them out, mentally awarding herself ten points for Gryffindor. 

 

Henry made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “After what he did to you? I don’t care about him. He’s not my dad. Killian’s…” He looked down and Emma was horrified to see tears in his eyes. “I thought Killian… I guess I was wrong.” 

 

“Hey.” Emma put her hand on Henry’s chin and pulled his head up to meet her eyes. “Killian would take a bullet for you, kid. Whatever is going on with him - it is  _ not _ about you and it is  _ not _ about how much he loves you. Got it?” 

 

“Got it,” Henry mumbled, eyes still downcast. “Can I play Xbox until dinner?” 

 

Sighing, Emma forced her stiff little boy into an embrace and kissed his forehead soundly. “Yeah. Play something nice and violent.” 

 

He nodded against her side then trudged into his room. Emma pursed her lips. 

 

Fuck it. She was snooping on his computer. Henry was upset by whatever the hell was wrong with him and she was done being the mature adult. Ten points from Gryffindor - maybe she’d always belonged in Slytherin after all.

 

xxx

 

All Emma got out of snooping through Killian’s laptop was a recipe for buttered rum and a knot of guilt in her stomach. His browser history was weeks old, like he hadn’t searched for anything; she even tried all the tricks she knew to find hidden tracks on a laptop - he’d really done nothing on it since before they’d moved to Boston and that included working on the new book. 

 

Maybe his odd behavior really was as simple as an intense case of writer’s block. Maybe he was afraid to tell her, because they’d gotten this fancy apartment and with the bail bonds trade usually drying up a bit after the holidays, they’d be counting on his advance once he delivered his publisher the detailed synopsis.  

 

Abandoning her shitty, mistrustful wife plan, Emma headed back to the kitchen (it was possible she’d left the ice cream out to melt) but stopped when she heard not the sounds of violent bloody gore, but quiet voices coming from Henry’s bedroom. 

 

“It’s fine,” Henry was saying in a tone that clearly indicated it was anything but. 

 

“It’s really not,” Killian said and Emma leaned against the wall that kept her out of their line of sight but made eavesdropping on Henry’s room much easier. Hey, the view wasn’t the only reason she’d been eager for this apartment. 

 

“I just… I guess I thought… we were a family,” Henry said, sounding so vulnerable Emma wanted to hug him and hurt Killian a little for making him sound that way. 

 

“Henry… lad.” Then Killian sounded just as lost, just as broken, and Emma just wanted to wrap her arms around them both. “The love I have for you and your mother outweighs all the grains of sand in this or any other realm. Never doubt that.” 

 

“Then why did you bring  _ him _ up?” Henry asked. “I don’t want to do my ancestry project about him. I can’t ask Mom, because she doesn’t know who her parents are. I know yours are gone, but you knew them at least. I still want to do my project about my family.” 

 

Killian took a deep breath. She knew well the sound of air filling his lungs from a thousand nights falling asleep with her ear pressed to his chest, a thousand moments sat across from him as he prepared himself to say something sappy or meaningful or cheeky. 

 

“My father’s name was Brennan and my mother’s name was Alice. They married young -- too young, it turns out. He was a bastard and she would have adored spoiling you, her first grandchild, young master Henry.” 

 

Emma bit her lip hard to keep the tears in her eyes from falling. Her boys kept speaking to one another, Henry asking questions, then telling Killian to wait, he had to write this down, and Killian detailing as much of his history as he could - the small English village he was born into, the Jones line before him (he’d never known his grandparents and unfortunately couldn’t be of much help further back, but he did delight Henry by informing him they were rumored to be descended from  _ the _ Davey Jones) and any other detail that came to mind. Emma was pretty sure he was making at least some of it up, but it was a fifth grade ancestry project and she’d punch any teacher who gave Henry less than an A for the yarn he was about to spin. 

 

Deciding she’d had enough of this emotional rollercoaster, Emma spent some time researching a skip - he was slippery and she might have to go out of town for a few days to nab him. With Killian and Henry on an even keel, she felt a lot better about the prospect. 

 

A solid hour of research confirmed her suspicion - Travis the douchebag had fled to Rhode Island and was stupid enough to still be using his own credit cards. He had also already set up a new Tinder profile. Emma would drive the Bug to the most recent hit she had on his card and let the tight red dress on her Tinder profile do the rest of the location job for her. 

 

She’d leave in the morning. She wanted to spend the night with her boys first. 

 

They were still in Henry’s room, though ancestry talk had morphed into the video game Killian hated playing the least, something with knights and quests. They were spread out on Henry’s small full bed and Emma took a flying leap between them, forcing them to either dive out of the way and lose a life or accept her full weight. 

 

Naturally they both took the hit, their characters living to fight another day. 

 

“Oi! Swan,” Killian complained. 

 

“Jesus, Mom,” Henry added, sounding much more parental than she ever did. 

 

“Third controller,” she demanded. 

 

Henry hooked the wire with his foot and launched it at her. She caught it easily and entered the game when it let her. Every time she did something Killian or Henry couldn’t, she elbowed them until Killian finally called for a mutiny. He and Henry ganged up on her, assaulting her with tickling fingers and raspberries, the game abandoned and Emma feeling lighter than she had in weeks. 

 

xxx

 

“I have to go to Rhode Island tomorrow,” Emma said later that night after they’d settled into bed. Killian seemed to be keeping a little more distance between them than was customary and he was also wearing his prosthetic to bed, which he never did. 

 

“Hmm?” Killian responded, irking her because apparently he wasn’t even listening to her. 

  
“I’m going away tomorrow,” she repeated, turning on her side to face him. He was staring at the ceiling, the black t-shirt he wore getting in the way of her favorite pillow, his chest hair. Come to think of it, he’d been withholding her favorite pillow for awhile now. She’d been so exhausted by the move that she’d basically fallen asleep as soon as her head hit an actual pillow. 

 

He finally turned to face her. “Where are you going?” 

 

“Rhode Island,” she repeated. “I’ve got a hit on a skip. It’ll be a nice payday for the holidays.” 

 

“That’s good,” he said, nodding a bit, mostly to himself, it seemed.

 

“I’ll be gone a few days, most likely,” she added, frowning when he just nodded again. “I’ll miss you, too,” she said sarcastically, before turning her back on him, half curling into a ball of confused anger and sadness. 

 

“Swan,” he muttered.

 

“Save it,” she said. “If you’re not going to tell me the truth, I don’t want to hear it.” 

 

Several moments passed, so many that she really thought he was going to remain silent. Then, so quietly she might have missed it if she hadn’t been listening so carefully, he spoke. 

 

“Have you ever woken up one morning and felt like an utter fraud?” he asked. 

 

Her frown deepened. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked. “Is this about the book?” 

 

“I wish it were about the bloody book, Swan,” he muttered, his his breath close enough that she could feel it puffing against the bare skin of her shoulder. “Just go to sleep.”

 

“Killian--”

 

“You’re leaving in the morning, in that deathtrap of yours - I’d like you to be rested before you get on the road. It’s an icy drive this time of year.” He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her back against him and she rested her head against his other arm. He was still keeping her at a distance, but she could feel his concern, his affection, even through such a strange distance. Her mind replayed his declaration to Henry, the passion and conviction in his voice as he’d vowed his love for them both. He hadn’t been lying. 

 

Why the hell would her husband think he was a fraud? 

 

xxx

 

Emma debated bailing on the trip, but forcing Killian to talk when he clearly wasn’t ready to had never lead anywhere good. So she kissed him and Henry both on the forehead, made them promise to text her updates while she was gone and headed out. Killian had gotten up earlier than she had to make sure the snow chains were on the Bug’s tires and he’d filled the tank up with gas, something she routinely forgot to do until she was already on the road.

 

Her first night in Rhode Island, Emma logged onto her fake Tinder profile, the one that let her breasts and a tight red dress do all the advertising necessary to pick up any creep in a fifty mile radius. It only took about a hundred left swipes for her mark to pop up and she reluctantly swiped right. 

 

Henry’s text (a picture of the breakfast Killian made him and a row of sad face emojis) interrupted her briefly; she replied that egg whites and salmon were good for a growing boy. Killian’s text (a simple “The boy’s been fed well and sent off to school; come home safe, Swan”) intensified that ache in her chest and she fired off a quick heart emoji in reply. If she started actually texting words, she was afraid word vomit would soon follow and she needed to concentrate on nabbing this dirtbag.

 

Her skip was laughingly easy to lure but not so seamless to capture. They scuffled outside the restaurant, Emma tackling and handcuffing the guy after a graceless fall sent them both to the icy ground. It was only after she’d handed him off to local law enforcement that she noticed how badly she scraped up her wrist. She rinsed it off in the motel bathroom, but immediately changed into traveling clothes. It was late, but there wouldn’t be traffic at this hour and she’d be home, in bed with her husband, in less than ninety minutes.

 

Unfortunately, being alone with her thoughts on a long drive and no case to think about meant Emma had little to do but consider Killian’s odd behavior. 

 

When she added it all up - attempting to remind Henry they weren’t actually father and son, the guilt in his eyes, the disinterest in sex, feeling like a fraud - her stomach clenched at the most obvious conclusion: Killian was cheating on her.

 

Maybe it wasn’t physical. Maybe it was only one time and he didn’t know how to confess. Maybe he had fallen in love with someone else and felt guilty about wanting to leave them. Leave  _ her _ . Maybe he was only staying for Henry. Maybe he just didn’t know how to tell her he’d made a mistake by marrying her, the same mistake her first foster family had made by wanting to adopt her, only to send her back when she was three. 

 

Emma’s wrist was starting to ache as much as it stung and she worried it might be sprained on top of the scraping. Her vision was also getting blurry, which meant she was probably crying and that always pissed her off, so she used her injured hand to angrily wipe her eyes clear. 

 

If Killian had decided she wasn’t enough, that he wanted something else - that was fine. It would hurt Henry, but they could survive. They were just fine when it was the two of them and they could be a family of two again. 

 

Something hollow started forming in her chest at the thought of no more Killian - no more sullen hours trying to get the words right only to emerge victorious and tumble her into bed to celebrate, no more healthy breakfasts to send them off for the day with ‘vim and vigor,’ no more grown up in the house, no more feeling safe with someone, no more forgetting what it felt like to be a lonely, unwanted little ugly duckling again. 

 

Fucking tears. She was going to get into an accident if she didn’t get a grip on her emotions, but it was impossible when it felt like her whole world was caving in on itself. Killian didn’t lie to her. If he was lying now, it meant… it had to mean something bad, given how long it had gone on, given all the other signs. She wouldn’t be able to make it another night wondering about this. As soon as she got home, she was ripping off the Band-Aid - even if it took several layers of skin with it. 

 

She made a lot of noise coming in the front door, kicking her boots off and leaving them in a messy, wet heap just inside, the way Killian hated. She draped her coat over a chair and caught a look at herself in the mirror by the door - her makeup had run due to all the crying (waterproof my ass) and her hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail, which just made her face look even more gaunt. 

 

“You’re home early.” Killian’s soft voice drifted from the living room and her shoulders hunched in on themselves at the sound of it. The sound of his feet encased in those warm, fuzzy socks Henry loved brought him closer. “Did you get your man?” 

 

Emma turned to look at him and wanted to cry even harder. He was wearing a soft black sweater, one of the many new items they’d purchased for the frigid Boston weather. The dark color made his eyes look even bluer, or maybe that was all the lights she’d just noticed he and Henry must have hung up while she was gone, their whole apartment transformed into a cozy winter wonderland. Like a real family lived here. Like he was planning to stick around until Christmas. 

 

She felt fucking  _ crazy _ . 

 

“You're hurt,” he said, eyes obviously ticking over her to figure out what was causing her mental breakdown. He moved quickly, his right hand pushing a piece of hair that had escaped her punishing ponytail back behind her ear, thumb skimming over her cheek to trace the black tear track that made it all the more obvious she’d been crying. His eyes were still moving over her face furiously and when he realized she hadn’t been punched or visibly concussed (wouldn’t be the first time) he started scanning the rest of her.

 

His ex-naval captain’s eagle eye narrowed in on her wrist in a snap and her hand was soon cradled between his right and his prosthetic. He made a tsking sound (chastising her for using water as a disinfectant again) and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, the way he always did when she was hurting. The tears came again but she didn’t try to fight them. He made soft shushing sounds and cradled her hand against his chest protectively, letting her cry it out for a few minutes before gently ushering her into the bathroom. 

 

Emma sat on the sink so he wouldn’t have to crouch and Killian pulled the Neosporin out of the medicine cabinet. He used his teeth to open the bottle then curled her hand over his prosthetic to hold her still. Carefully, he applied the disinfectant, knowing how prone she was to kicking when something stung her. Once he’d gotten a good, thick layer applied, he reached for the gauze. 

 

“Do you think it’s sprained as well?” he asked. 

 

She nodded, unable to make her vocal cords worked and he fetched an ace bandage from the emergency room drawer as well.

 

“You should get an X-Ray,” he said. 

 

“Maybe,” she agreed, her voice sounding like she’d been crying over a half broken heart for the last hour.

 

They both knew she wasn’t going to get an X-Ray, but she really, really loved him for worrying about her. 

 

“This is how we met,” she said quietly as he leaned forward, using his teeth to hold one end of the gauze so his right hand could smooth it down. 

 

His gaze snapped up to hers, a wary look in them, and her eyebrows scrunched together. “Remember? My timeless grace?” 

 

If he didn’t even remember how they met, he wouldn’t have to leave her - she was going to kill him. 

 

Killian blinked and nodded slowly, as if the memory was replaying in his mind. He cleared his throat before speaking. “You were carrying drinks for you and Henry. Slipped on a patch of ice. Tore your palm up.” 

 

“You bandaged it with your scarf and tied one end with your mouth. Very ballsy for a total stranger,” she added with an affectionate nudge to his hip with her knee. 

 

“I’m nothing if not bold,” he agreed. 

 

“I never even saw you coming,” she confided. “All those walls and that cynicism and keeping everyone out and I never even saw you coming. I wanted to run so far and so fast from you and I still wanted to jump your bones.” 

 

He scoffed. “You thought I was annoying. And possibly a stalker.” 

 

“I still wanted to jump your bones,” she said. They shared a laugh, but she sobered fast. “I know I did run away after that. I know I… didn’t make it easy.” 

 

Was that it? Was she still more difficult than she thought? Emma thought she’d gotten better at letting him in, that she’d let him all the way in, but maybe… maybe he just got tired of it. Of her. Everyone did eventually, everyone but Henry. 

 

“Emma… I don’t like easy,” he said with that grave tone he sometimes got when he wanted to make sure she understood him. “A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. You have always been worth the fight of my life, darling. Always.” 

 

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead, a soft, reverent thing that made her cry again. He brought her bandaged hand to his mouth, kissed the back of it, her palm, her wrist, the patch of skin on her forearm left bare from his first aid work. 

 

“Do… do I need to fight for you?” she asked, the quiet, scared question nothing like the rage she’d planned to unleash on him during her drive. Funny how Killian being Killian could disarm her in the blink of an eye. 

 

“Oh, luv,” Killian muttered, pressing his forehead to hers. “I have been yours from the moment we met. It just took me a little while to realize it. You’ve done nothing wrong, Emma. I’m sorry. I know I’ve been… I’ll be better.” 

 

“I don’t need you to be better. I need you to be you. I need you to want to be here.” 

 

“I do,” he vowed and that was exactly what it was: a vow. “There is nowhere else for me but by your side, Swan.” 

 

“You’re confusing me,” she whispered, like it was a secret. 

 

“I’m confusing me,” he assured her. “Please just… give me a little time? To figure a few things out?” 

 

Emma sighed. It wasn’t the resolution she wanted, but she felt oddly lighter. They hadn’t talked about anything specific, but already her earlier fears felt ridiculous. Most of them, anyway. At least he wasn’t pretending things were fine - he’d given her months of space to realize she was in love with him in the beginning. She could give him a few weeks now, to figure out whatever was going on in that ridiculously attractive head of his. 

 

“You’ve got four weeks ‘til Christmas,” she grumbled. “I want my husband front and center by then, got it, buddy?” 

 

So she wasn’t nearly as patient or understanding as he was. He knew what he was getting into.

 

His grin at her words indicated that he did and that he still found her rather charming. 

 

She could live with that. For now. 


	2. Chapter 2

Killian was brooding on the couch, watching  _ It’s a Wonderful Life _ . 

 

“You hate Christmas movies,” Emma noted, plopping down next to him. 

 

“It would appear I do,” he answered with false enthusiasm. 

 

“So stop making yourself miserable,” she chastised, snatching the remote from him and flipping around until she settled on something she knew he’d like. 

 

“What the bloody hell is this?” he asked. 

 

“ _ The Devil Wears Prada _ ,” Emma answered. “It’s about flamboyantly dressed people living their truths under the oppression of a tyrannical corporate captain.” 

 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you comparing  _ my _ Captain Hook to the actual devil?” 

 

“Never,” she soothed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. He tensed under her touch, which made her tense and that place that had been aching beneath her ribs give a painful lurch. What was that thing? Right, her heart. It was two steps forward, one step back with him these days. “I’m going to wrap some stuff I got for Henry. You’re gonna love the movie, I promise.” 

 

She ran to their bedroom like the house was on fire. She wanted to cry, like  _ she _ was in one of those cheesy Christmas movies. 

 

Later, he found her poking at one of Henry’s newly wrapped packages and wrapped himself around her, one of those full body hugs that made her feel warm and safe and cherished. 

 

“You’re right,” he rasped against her ear. “The devil is quite a bit more my style.” 

 

“Never question me,” she sassed with false confidence. 

 

He squeezed her. “Never.” It sounded more like a vow than the words they’d exchanged at their impromptu wedding, with Henry their only witness. She reminded herself she’d promised to be patient. 

 

It wasn’t a virtue she would ever be accused of possessing. 

 

….

 

A few days later, Killian marched up to her with all the intent of a man determined to take his medicine and practically demanded, “Go out with me.” 

 

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

 

He sighed and ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Swan, I’d like to take you out. On a date. A proper one.” 

 

“Okay,” she said slowly. Truthfully, her heart was beating a little faster at the idea that her husband might actually want to  _ court _ her again. That was how he’d referred to it the first time, because he should not be  _ allowed _ but here they were.

 

“Henry’s at that boy Adam’s house tonight,” he continued, his tone at  _ that boy _ indicating exactly how much Killian didn’t care for Adam’s attitude or influence on Henry. Emma didn’t exactly disagree, but she was so happy Henry had made a friend in a new city that she was making a lot of concessions. “Let me show you a good a time, Swan.” 

 

She smiled, a gentle, soft thing. “Okay.” 

 

….

 

He didn’t give her any hints about their evening, just that she should dress warmly, so Emma threw on her favorite pair of jeans, her favorite thick red sweater and one of Killian’s black leather jackets. He seemed pretty fond of that given the momentary heat she saw flare in his eyes and she scored one point for Emma Swan. 

 

They started on a sort of Killian-created oyster crawl, sampling the best places near them and marking down their favorites for future reference. From there, they walked to the wharf and boarded a ferry for the South Shore where Killian had arranged for a table overlooking the water where they could sip cocktails and chat. He told her about his progress on the book - slow going, apparently, but he was ‘remembering’ how to write - which she thought was an odd way to put it, but she’d learned over the years that the writer’s brain was a strange and mysterious place and she tended to leave him be about it. 

 

A local band was playing at a nearby place and Emma was only too happy to cuddle into Killian’s side as they strolled inside and found a cozy table in back. She rested her hand on his thigh and did an internal happy dance when he didn’t tense at all, instead pressing a lingering kiss to the side of her head. The music was decent, a folksy rock sound that suited their evening well. As they wound down, Emma found herself in that loose happy place where she could smell the salt air on Killian’s skin and was having vague fantasies of stripping him naked and having her way with him. It had been  _ weeks _ and though she’d gone a lot longer without sex in the past, she hadn’t since the most illegally attractive man in the world had spun her world upside down.

 

The illegally attractive man apparently had other plans. There was a cart that he’d discovered served the  _ best _ hot chocolate and clam chowder (thankfully in separate containers - some of the fusion foods had gotten a little out of control) and since it was freezing despite all the alcohol they had warming them from the inside, they huddled together on a bench while they shared both and chatted about Henry’s grades (which were better than average but not quite up to  _ his _ usual standards). 

 

By the time they arrived at the midnight showing of The Princess Bride, she started to get a little annoyed. 

 

The evening was perfect - packed with both her favorite things and the things they enjoyed doing together. But it was like he was trying to keep them so active and busy that they’d pass out in a heap once they got home. Emma felt less like a wife and more like an errant toddler. 

 

Her husband was trying to tire her out. 

 

And damn him, it was working. She nodded off halfway through the movie and woke to Killian gently stroking her chin with his thumb. The cab ride back to the apartment was a combination of cozy and pissy. If he hadn’t been so  _ off _ lately, Emma might not even have noticed what he was doing. Given the tactics he’d employed recently, she could come to no other conclusion. 

 

Killian didn’t want to have sex with her. Whatever was going on with him was the reason they hadn’t had sex in weeks. Emma tried really, really hard not to assume he was cheating on her, but she had the gossipy words of past unhappy foster families ringing in her head - if he isn’t getting it at home, he’s getting it somewhere was a refrain she’d heard over and over again when the mother of the house worried over her husband’s odd behavior.  

 

Still a little tipsy from the alcohol they’d indulged, Emma let Killian help her upstairs and into bed. When she tried to tug him in after her, he smiled and kissed her forehead - such a platonic gesture. Had he even kissed her, really kissed her, in weeks? Emma was shuffling through her fuzzy memories. It wasn’t like she kept a mental tally of how often she and Killian locked lips, but maybe she should start because she honestly couldn’t remember a single time he’d kissed her since they’d gotten to Boston. 

 

“I’ll turn in soon, luv,” he murmured. “Gonna get a little work done first. Sleep sweet, darling.” 

 

Emma stared at the ceiling for twenty minutes before she couldn’t take it another second, suddenly feeling horribly sober. 

 

The walk to Killian’s office seemed to take forever, partly because she wasn’t really sober and partly because she was afraid of what she’d find. Would he be texting someone? God, maybe Skyping with some woman? Was that an image Emma wanted in her head? It definitely wasn’t but the not knowing was driving her crazy. 

 

It was almost a shock, how banal the scene that greeted her was. His laptop shut tight, phone nowhere in sight, Killian was staring out the window, brooding was the only word Emma could think of to describe it. A glass of amber liquid was clutched in his right hand and she assumed it was rum, given the open bottle on his desk. Killian was no stranger to his favorite drink, but she was surprised he’d indulge after how much they’d had to drink earlier.

 

Though, she realized, thumbing through the drinking part of their evening, Killian had ordered a single beer with her and then switched to club soda. Emma had to hold in a bark of hysterical laughter. He’d been getting her drunk so he  _ wouldn’t _ have to take advantage of her. 

 

She wanted to confront him, though she wasn’t even positive what she would say. She wanted to shake him until he told her what was going on. She wanted to demand he leave if he wanted to leave. 

 

She wanted him to tell her she was being ridiculous and he was just … oh she didn’t know, at this point if he said he had a rare disease he was struggling with she would almost be  _ relieved _ , but the immediate thought that followed, the idea that Killian wouldn’t exist anymore, that he might  _ die _ , took all the air from her body and she promised any deity listening that she would let him go without hesitation if it meant he was alive. 

 

No, Emma was definitely still too drunk for the conversation they were going to have. And she was going to have to do something about her armor - she wasn’t wearing it, hadn’t worn it around Killian in so long, she almost didn’t know how to put it back on. But she would have to if she was to survive this. 

 

…

 

“Can I stay over at Adam’s again?” Henry asked. 

 

“Flerf?” Emma was still nursing hangover black coffee and wishing the sun would dial it down a notch, but she was positive Henry wasn’t asking for another sleepover when he’d barely been home for ten minutes.

 

“I believe your mother meant to say ‘no,’” Killian cheerfully translated, depositing a heaping plate of greasy bacon, eggs and carefully cut up fruit in front of her and a smaller plate with a lot more fruit to bacon ratio in front of Henry. 

 

Cue Henry’s getting-less-adorable-by-the-day ten year old eye roll. “Come on, we’re in the middle of an important campaign, everything is riding on it--”

 

“It’s a video game, lad, not a military offensive,” Killian chided.

 

“We’ve got teammates depending on us,” Henry insisted. 

 

“So you can play from your bedroom,” Emma said. “That’s how this all works, right? Everyone’s playing from different locations?” 

 

Henry looked so bitter she’d actually been paying attention to how his games worked. 

 

“It’s family night, kid,” she added. “You know how I feel about family night.” 

 

It was a low blow, but Henry instantly looked guilty. He knew exactly how much she’d wanted a family her whole life and she’d made a point, no matter how much she was working, to taking one night a week for them to spend time together. Killian had been inducted into their lives on a family night officially and they’d rarely missed one in Henry’s entire life. She knew one day he’d be an actual teenager and way too cool for board games with his parents, but she wanted this for him and, selfishly, she wanted it for herself as long as she could get it.

 

“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll tell Adam I can’t make it.”

 

“You can still dial in,” Killian reminded him, completely butchering the tech speak he had no interest in retaining. 

 

“Nah, they can do one campaign without me,” Henry said. “Besides, if they fail without me, I’ll get team leader for sure.”

 

“That’s my devious little man,” Emma praised, pinching his cheeks as Killian ruffled his hair, being with pride at the boy’s cunning. 

 

Henry squirmed until he was able to disentangle both of them and started shoveling his breakfast down. Killian took his seat beside her, lifting her hand to his mouth to press a brief kiss to her knuckles before tucking into his own plate. It was a simple gesture, one he did almost habitually, but it reignited the roiling in Emma’s gut. 

 

“I’ll be right back,” she muttered, escaping to the bathroom to throw up. She was rarely this badly hungover after a few drinks and she blamed the emotional stress on how bad she felt. 

 

A gentle knock at the door interrupted her sullen thoughts and Killian peeked his head inside. “All right, luv?” 

 

“I’m dying,” she muttered, a touch dramatically. 

 

“I certainly hope not,” he said lightly, dropping to his knees beside her and holding her hair back in case she got sick again. “What would we do without you?” 

 

YOU’RE SO FUCKING CONFUSING, she wanted to scream at him. But her head hurt too much and her armor was the opposite of fortified so - repression and denial it was. 

 

Emma rested her head against his shoulder and let her husband comfort her. 

 

…..

 

Family night was a huge hit - Kilian wasn’t pulling away when it was the three of them, gleefully taking all of Henry’s money in a game of Monopoly then dutifully picking a movie Henry loved ( _ Star Wars) _ as was his right as victor. They ate popcorn and Killian didn’t even fuss too much at the Nestle Crunch mixed into the bowl. With Henry snuggled between them (God she didn’t want to think about him being older and unwilling to snuggle with them) it was a perfect night. 

 

Then the movie ended and Henry went to bed, though not before letting out a gleeful YES! that indicated his friends had not been victorious in their campaign and he would ascend to the role of team leader. 

 

Killian was changing into his pajamas and hiding an exaggerated yawn behind his prosthetic. Subtle, Jones, real subtle. 

 

Emma, very tired of this game he was playing, stared him down as she started stripping off her clothes. Sure enough once he realized she wasn’t being remotely modest, he jerked around so quickly she thought he was going to strain something. She kept glaring at his back until she was down to her underwear. He was pretending to look for something on his nightstand. She moved into his peripheral vision with purpose and, assuming she had finished dressing, he glanced up to look at her and his mouth dropped open slowly as he realized she was nearly naked. 

 

“It’s, ah…” He licked his lips, slowly, and she was somewhat gratified to know that at least her naked breasts still had some effect on him. “Cold. It’s cold tonight, isn’t it?” he asked like he almost wasn’t sure.

 

Emma pulled back the covers on her side of the bed then did a very bad job of covering herself with them. “Then you should come to bed and keep me warm,” she said in the best come hither voice she had. 

 

And even though she almost expected the rejection, his hesitation still stung. The weird thing about it? He wanted to. Emma might be insecure and a little crazy when it came to her abandonment issues, but she knew when a man wanted her and Killian definitely did. He was almost swaying toward the bed, as if in a trance. Boobs did that to men, but she was pretty sure it was more than a heterosexual man’s biological reaction. Killian wanted  _ her _ but for reasons only he knew was determined to deny it. 

 

Emma felt suddenly and absurdly ashamed of herself - she didn’t need to throw herself at a man who wasn’t interested and she definitely didn’t want some kind of pity fuck to manifest out of this desperation she was displaying. Gripping the covers tightly in her fist, she turned her back on Killian and made sure she was completely covered. She could feel his indecision, could feel him staring at the back of her head, but she was done trying to initiate things. She’d promised him patience, but since she was out of that, he could live with petulance instead. 

 

The mattress dipped on his side as he cautiously got into bed. He reached a tentative hand out toward her arm and she jerked away from him. She spun to face him and his eyes were so comically wide that she might have laughed if she wasn’t so hurt and angry. 

 

Mostly angry. 

 

“Don’t pretend,” she snapped. “Just go sleep in your office; we both know that’s what you’re going to do as soon as you’re sure I’m asleep anyway.” 

 

She hadn’t been sure of that, actually, but the flare of guilt in his eyes was as good as a signed confession. 

 

“You obviously don’t want to sleep with your wife, so don’t.” She turned away from him again, bundling herself in her blanket and her misery. 

 

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered after nearly a full minute of silence. “I’d rather lose another limb than hurt you.”

 

“You are hurting me.” Emma was angry at the tears that were falling because they felt manipulative somehow, but the idea that Killian might not want her anymore ripped open every scabbed over wound she had. “You’re hurting me every second you don’t want to be with me. Killian, seriously, I don’t…” Even though it felt ridiculous, she wriggled around until she faced him again, without relinquishing her blanket burrito; she really, really didn’t want to have this conversation topless. “I don’t want your pity or your guilt. I don’t want you to stay because you feel trapped. You can…. We can figure out how you could still be part of Henry’s life, if that’s what’s holding you here. But you don’t want me anymore. You’ve made it pretty obvious and I’ve been in too much denial to see it. Do you know how pathetic it is, to realize that your husband has lost all interest in you, but he feels too bad for you being a fucking foster kid to leave?” 

 

“Lost interest,” he muttered, as if it were the most hysterical thing she’d ever said. “Bloody hell, do you have any idea how impossible it is to lie next to you, night after night, willing and wanting and not simply ravish you?” 

 

“Oh, fuck off,” she whisper-yelled, flinging the blanket aside, her unbound breasts be damned. She stomped over to the dresser and pulled on the first t-shirt she found, then spun around with her arms crossed, ready to really fight. As much as they could, given Henry was down the hall. “I am so sick of your mixed messages and pleas for time. You feel like a fraud? Well, stop acting like one! Decide what you want and live with it.”

 

“It’s not that bloody easy,” he hissed, rising from the bed to regard her from across the room. “I can’t just think about what I want. I have to think about what’s best for you, for Henry. It’s not fair to expect…” He clamped his jaw shut tightly. “Nothing I say will bloody matter,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “I can scarcely reconcile all the thoughts raging through my own mind. How could I possibly expect you to contend with it? I’m not the man you think I am and… I’m  _ hurting _ you. Something I swore I would never do, not intentionally. Perhaps… perhaps I should leave.” 

 

Even though Emma had basically challenged him to do just that, everything inside of her froze at the idea of it. “So that’s it. You’re leaving me.” She felt like she was three again, or seven or twelve or fifteen or seventeen - unwanted, unloved, undeserving of the family she’d craved and fought for. 

 

“No!” His hoarse denial snapped her out the cold dread seeping into her limbs. He moved closer to her, the way you might approach a feral cat, his hand and prosthetic outstretched. “Not leaving  _ you _ . I would never… Emma, I would do anything to stay with you. But I don’t want to keep  _ hurting _ you while I figure out how to do the honorable thing.” 

 

His eyes were begging her for understanding, but Emma was done coddling whatever delusion was chasing around his head. She knew Killian had demons, the same as she did, and if his were trying to destroy everything they’d built together… well she could put on her big girl panties. 

 

Emma slapped his shoulder. “That’s for thinking it wouldn’t hurt me more than anything if you left.” 

 

“Emma--”

 

She slapped his other shoulder. “That’s for thinking you had to do anything to stay with me but  _ stay _ .” 

 

“Swan--”

 

She shoved his chest, hard, with both hands, satisfied when he stumbled back a few steps. “And that’s for thinking I want you to do the  _ honorable _ thing if your crazy, fucked up line of thought has led you to consider for a second that it’s somehow not right or fair for us to be together.” 

 

“I don’t know what to do,” he seethed back at her. “You don’t really know me! I’m not the man you married anymore!” 

 

Emma tried very, very hard not to diminish what was obviously a very real torment weighing on him by calling bullshit at the mere idea. So she took a deep breath and asked in a very calm voice, “Do you love me?” 

 

“Emma,” he sighed.

 

“No, you don’t get to act like I’m ridiculous for asking. You’re the idiot here, so you get to answer any question I have. Do you love me?” 

 

“More than anything,” he said in that low voice that made her toes curl. Point to Killian for style.

 

“Do you… do you want to be with me?” she asked, faltering only slightly in her confidence.

 

He sighed fondly. “More than anything,” he replied, his tone gentling. 

 

“Okay,” she said softly. “Then let me see if you’re the man I married. Let me decide that, okay?”

 

Slowly, almost with fear, he nodded his head. 

 

“Good,” she whispered. She cleared her throat, trying to organize her thoughts. She wasn’t the one who was good at romantic declarations, but for him, she was going to try her damnedest. “It wasn’t love at first sight between you and me. I was prickly and guarded and you actually liked that about me. You’ve been hurt deeply before, lost more than I ever had in the first place, but we understand each other; you and me, it wasn’t love, but we understood each other at first sight and I think that probably scared me most of all. You  _ saw _ me and I  _ saw _ you and for better or for worse I don’t think there was a point either of us could have turned back.”

 

“Swan,” he choked, his eyes filling with tears. But she wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot.

 

“I don’t know you? You love with your whole body, so deeply that loss is like a knife to you. You’d cut off your other hand before you’d lose someone you love again. I don’t  _ know _ you? You’re capable of things that make you ashamed, things you did after you lost your brother, after you lost your first love. You drowned for awhile, until you found a better way to channel all that loss and rage and then you met me. You loved me and I don’t know if I could have let anyone but you love me like this, because I don’t know if anyone else would have loved me  _ enough _ to break down those walls. But you did. You always have. So you can tell me you don’t want me and you can leave if you think you’ve made a mistake being with us, but you do  _ not _ get to tell me I don’t know who you are. You’re not a coward so don’t act like one.” 

 

Killian stared at her with a strange kind of longing, almost salvation in his eyes. 

 

“As usual, Swan… you’re damned right,” he muttered and then his hand was in her hair and his mouth was pressing against hers with all the urgency and passion she’d been missing for weeks only it was somehow more, something that left her more breathless, more wanting, more relieved than she could possibly have imagined. 

 

He walked her back until she bumped into the dresser, then he lifted her up to sit on top of it so they were at the same level. She wrapped her legs around his hips and urged him closer, one of her hands in his hair while the other slid under the warm henley he wore to caress his back. He gentled his kiss after a moment, leaning away from her long enough to look her in the eye. 

 

“Hi,” she said, because the way he was looking at her was somehow more than the way he’d always looked at her and that was really saying something. 

 

“I just want to remember this,” he said quietly, thumbing at the dimple in her chin. He leaned forward and kissed her again, slow and soft, and Emma felt her whole body melt into his. 

 

Then his hand was under her bottom and she was off her feet again, spun around until her back hit the mattress and Killian followed her down without pulling away. 

 

His mouth blazed a trail over the bridge of her nose, her jaw, the spot behind her ear that made her moan. It was like he was remembering and learning all the places she liked him best and Emma was absolutely not complaining. It was a little bit like he had been right - she hadn’t known him, or perhaps hadn’t known the full depth of him, because this felt somehow…  _ more _ than it ever had before and there was a damned good reason she’d missed their sex life - it had been pretty incredible. 

 

But this… hell, they hadn’t even taken their clothes off and she was ready to crawl out of her skin. 

 

“I want to see you,” Killian muttered against her mouth, then he pulled her up on the bed so they were facing each other on their knees. He watched her eyes as he found the hem of her t-shirt and slowly dragged it up her torso, only breaking eye contact to lean down and press fervent, wet kisses to her ribs as they were revealed. Emma lifted her arms above her head and helped him pull the shirt the rest of the way off, then groaned because Killian had found her breasts and they were definitely going to be best friends from here on out. 

 

He palmed her and kissed her and bit at her in all the right ways and she was right about this being more somehow, because she was about to come simply from the way he was worshipping her chest. 

  
But she didn’t want to, not yet. Her hands found the hem of his Henley and she repeated his actions, pressing her mouth over his abdomen and trailing up his chest as he helped her remove the shirt completely. Her hand trailed down to the prosthetic he never wore to bed and he tensed. 

 

She raised an eyebrow. “I want to see you,” she parrotted huskily. 

 

He let her remove the prosthetic and set it gently on his nightstand. She cradled his left arm between her breasts and leaned in to kiss him again, those slow, soft kisses that were mending all the bruises around her heart; soon, they’d barely ache at all. 

 

Killian’s hand began to wander again, reacquainting itself with the bare skin of her back, teasing at the band of her underwear by dipping beneath it then giving it a single, sharp snap that had her pushing her hips against his. He lowered her back to the bed and they both tugged at her underwear until she was able to kick it away. Killian pressed his mouth over her abdomen, his touch reverent as he moved over all the places she used to feel uncomfortable about - the stretch marks Henry left her with, the appendix scar that kept her from wearing bikinis for years. They were just another part of her as far as Killian was concerned. 

 

He inhaled deeply when he reached the spot between her legs and before she could tell him she was too wound up, that she just wanted  _ him _ , he was already diving in, his lips and tongue discovering and rediscovering and holy Jesus Christ how was he actually  _ better _ at this than he’d been before?

 

Emma buried one hand in his hair and used the other to quiet the cries she wanted to let loose, biting into her palm to keep herself quiet. Poor Henry - they couldn’t traumatize him. 

 

It was almost embarrassing how fast she came, quiet mewls smothered by her hand until Killian was suddenly there, replacing her hand with his mouth and she could taste herself on him and it was so, so hot and she was satisfied and unsatisfied at the same time and she had to get his fucking pajama pants  _ off right now _ . 

 

He reached between them for a moment to guide himself and then he was there, he was inside, and Emma gasped something between a laugh and a sob at how absurdly, ridiculously relieved she was to have him there. He smiled against her mouth, an agreement of sorts, and then his hips moved against her, both of them finding a rhythm that worked so, so well and she wanted to keep kissing him but she also wanted to suck at his neck so she did that while he kissed her shoulder and she dragged her foot up his hip until her heel was smacking against his lower back with every thrust and fuck she was gonna come again--

 

This time his mouth was firmly on hers to muffle her cries or maybe hers were muffling his, she wasn’t really sure because this was really, definitely the best sex they had ever, ever had and if he ever tried to withhold it from her again for some dumbass reason he made up in his head she was going to hurt him. Or maybe just tie him to the bed until he submitted. Yeah. That seemed like a more reasonable plan.

 

She felt like she was drifting for a moment, but came back to herself as Killian pressed fervent, arduous kisses to every inch of bare skin he could reach without disentangling their bodies. “I love you,” he muttered between kisses, so much and so often she thought that he was trying to make up for the last few weeks, when he hadn’t said it at all. 

 

“I love you,” she whispered against the adorable curve of his ear. “Whatever’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours--”

 

“Is done,” he promised, lifting his head to look her in the eyes. “I’ll not leave your side unless you order me away, Emma.” 

 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” she assured him. “Who else am I gonna find to fuck me like that?” 

 

“Such a filthy mouth,” he chastised a second before he kissed her again. 

 

….

 

Things were good. Like, really good. Like, better than even her best memory. It was like something clicked for them and the whole world realigned itself to a new world order. Killian was back to being her attentive, outrageously flirtatious husband, except he was also softer than she remembered him being, more vulnerable. It’s like he was determined to lay himself bare for her, almost daring her to find him wanting.

 

As if. Emma felt a little bit like she’d won the lottery or like she was in the middle of the best dream ever, the kind you never wanted to wake up from because nothing in reality could possibly feel this good.

 

Henry and Killian had long gotten back on the even keel they’d had before - except their relationship, too, seemed just a little bit  _ more _ than Emma remembered, Killian more attuned to Henry’s moods, more eager to make sure he was safe - sometimes to the annoyance of the boy himself. The way he watched over her (their, really) little boy made Emma love him even more. 

 

They were stretched out on the couch, legs tangled as they both worked on their laptops at opposite ends. Emma’s ringtone for Henry startled them both, lulled by the quiet clacking of their keyboards. 

 

Her little boy’s voice was tiny and heartbroken as she leaned her head next to Killian’s so they could both hear. 

 

“Can you guys come get me?” 

 

He was at the police station. Emma had made fast friends with the cops who worked the evening shift, having brought in enough skips to them in the short few months they’d been in Boston to endear herself to the lot of them. Popping for a giant box of donuts a few times didn’t hurt. So Officer Miles made sure the boys were kept in an unused office rather than anywhere too scary. 

 

Henry looked defiant and ashamed at the same time. Emma took care of the paperwork - thanking Officer Miles profusely for keeping this off their permanent record - and frowned when Adam’s parents showed up, smacking the boy on the back of his head and calling him an idiot, a juvenile delinquent. They didn’t even ask what had happened. Emma watched Killian cup the back of Henry’s head protectively, as if the punishment being doled out to his partner in crime could somehow be contagious. 

 

“I imagine they were just being young boys,” Killian said when Adam’s parents paused long enough to let someone else get a word in. “I’m sure they won’t do anything like this again.” 

 

Killian didn’t know what they’d done either. But he knew Henry, knew him like Emma did and despite everything, Henry had called them. The boys didn’t have identification and probably could have caused the police no end of frustration by refusing to identify themselves, but Henry had called them within five minutes of arriving at the station. 

 

It turned out Adam had the idea to break into the aquarium and take selfies in front of the sharks. Killian reminded Henry that no successful crime hinged on taking incriminating photographs and Henry seemed to sigh in disappointment at his own foolishness. Emma broke the news that trips to the police station meant he was grounded for a month, no video games and no Adam. Henry protested the last, explaining that he was Adam’s only real friend and he couldn’t just abandon him. 

 

Emma and Killian exchanged a look, having seen the sort of treatment Adam got from his parents. They conceded that Henry and Adam could see one another to study -- only to study -- provided Adam got permission from his parents to do so at their apartment. 

 

To no one’s surprise, Adam’s parents agreed easily and Adam spent most of the next week practically sleeping over at the apartment. He took meals with the family, finished his homework promptly and delighted in the astronomy lessons Killian gave both boys. Emma felt proud of Henry, because the boy they’d considered a bad influence (which… well, he was) had actually been someone in need of a hero. 

 

Adam was returned to his own home for Christmas Eve with promises to have him over for Boxing Day, a holiday Killian assured him was actually a much better meal than the one served at Christmas. Henry’s grounding was officially lifted for the holiday and they exchanged presents - besides the usual socks and sweaters and video games, Emma and Henry got Killian a keyboard that would attach to his laptop that was supposed to be easier to use with one hand. Emma knew his prosthetic grew painful after extended wear and Killian liked to write later into the night than was entirely comfortable. Henry unwrapped the new gaming console he’d spent weeks hinting at and Emma got two gifts from her boys: the first, a cheesy ornament for the tree that said “First Christmas in Boston” with a spot for a photograph they’d snapped on one of their family nights, the three of them sporting equally cheesy grins over a failed game of Twister. The second was a ring on a chain.

 

“It belonged to the best man I know - my brother, Liam,” Killian said softly. “I’ve always thought it brought me luck, protected me, and there’s no one I’d rather it keep from harm.” He draped the chain over her neck and Emma settled it against her sweater. 

 

“Merry Christmas,” Emma whispered as Henry, tired of the mushy stuff, eagerly went to hook up his new console. 

 

“Happy Christmas, luv,” Killian whispered back. 

 

....

 

Life went on from there. Their first few weeks in Boston faded into the tapestry of the rest of their lives together - Emma remembered it, when she rarely thought of it, as Killian’s weird self esteem mysterious freak out. 

 

Henry graduated fifth grade and they flew to Florida to celebrate his eleventh birthday at Disney World. Adam came with them and the two boys kept each other busy and tired enough that Emma and Killian managed a few quiet moments amidst the wonderful chaos. 

 

Killian finished his book (hence the splurgey birthday trip to Disney World) and his publishers flipped over how much they loved it. They said the realism he’d given his fanciful characters outdid anything he’d produced before and they were going to give the book a big holiday push. 

 

Emma managed to avoid injury during every skip she chased. She pretended it was just a matter of time, but she secretly believed what Killian did - that Liam’s ring was keeping her safe.

 

Once Henry started sixth grade, Emma felt settled in a way she couldn’t explain. She and Killian were curled together in bed, her favorite pillow breathing deeply under her cheek. His fingers were trailing up and down her spine and if she hadn’t been so recently satiated she probably would have crawled on top of him. 

 

“Do you, um… do you ever think about what it would be like if we had another kid?” she asked. 

 

His fingers paused their idle stroking briefly before resuming. “I thought that’s what we were calling Adam?” 

 

“Har har,” she muttered, poking him in the ribs. Then she went back to running her fingers through his chest hair, tracing random patterns so she could ignore how genuinely worried she was for his response. “I mean, a kid that looked a little like me and a little like you.” 

 

“I’ve often thought of giving Henry a little brother or a little sister,” he confided. “If there was ever a boy born to be someone’s big brother, it’s our Henry.”

 

Emma felt this strange sense of calmness settle within her. “So… I guess I could stop taking my pill.” 

 

“I guess you could,” Killian agreed softly. 

 

The next day, she dumped her pills in the garbage.

 

….

 

The day after that, as Killian was making breakfast and Henry was watering their plants, Emma answered a knock at the door.

 

“Hi.” A petite woman with curly blonde hair pulled into a messy bun stood on the other side. “I know this is going to sound really, really crazy and you have no idea who I am, but um… something’s happened. Your family needs you.” 

 

Emma narrowed her eyes. “My family is right here.” 

 

“I don’t just mean Henry. I mean… your parents.” 

 

“Okay, we’re done.” Emma went to slam the door in the woman’s face, but before she could connect, Killian’s hand covered the side of the door, pulling it back. 

 

“Tink,” he breathed. 

 

The other woman’s eyes widened. “Hook. You… you know me?” 

 

It was then that Emma saw that look in his eyes, the one she hadn’t seen since they’d first come to Boston. The guilt. The shame. As if he’d stolen something that didn’t belong to him. 

 

“Aye, luv,” he said as if every word was painful. “You’d best come inside.” He looked at Emma then, some endlessly sad apology in his eyes. “We’ve much to discuss.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you go - that's what was wrong with Killian. Greater explanation and emotional fallout to come in part 3!


	3. Chapter 3

Remember when Emma wanted nothing more than to understand why Killian was acting so strangely?

 

Yeah, she was over that. She officially wanted to bury her head in the sand and pretend none of this crazy bullshit was real, that fucking  _ Tinkerbell _ wasn’t sitting in her living room, sipping a cup of tea, while her husband was asking after people Emma was apparently supposed to know, like her parents, who were also fucking fairy tale characters.

 

Part of her thought Killian had lost his mind, that maybe his books had created some kind of delusion that had led to this Tinkerbell taking advantage of him - maybe she was some kind of delusional fan who’d started talking to him because of his books. He was always too nice to his fans, especially the ones who seemed a little too into what he wrote. 

 

She wanted to call a doctor, get Killian help, do anything to cure this delusion. 

 

Except for that part of her, the really big one, that thought this ridiculous story sounded almost… familiar? Like on a gut level. And damn both their crazy asses, but neither Tinkerbell nor her husband thought they were lying. And neither of them behaved at all delusional, if you ignored every word that came out of their mouths. Which Emma was trying very hard to do.

 

“I don’t know who the note was from,” Tinkerbell added. “Just that it came by bird and said I needed to find the Savior. I confess that I didn’t spend much time analyzing it - the curse was coming and I used the last of my pixie dust to outrun it.” She held up a bottle. “This was attached to the note.”

 

Killian sighed. “A memory potion.” 

 

“You always did have an eye for treasure,” Tinkerbell teased. 

 

Great, and now Emma was also insanely jealous of the obviously old and easy rapport between her husband and a fucking fairy.

 

“Memory potion,” Emma said out loud. “Curses. Snow. Fucking. White.” She shook her head. “Killian, can I talk to you? Alone.” 

 

“Of course, luv,” he said, having the decency to look chagrined for apparently forgetting she didn’t believe a word of this insanity. 

 

Emma practically fled to their bedroom, hugging herself tightly around the middle as she looked at everything that made up their life. Pictures hung on the far wall, a wedding she  _ remembered _ happening, when they promised to love, honor and always, always cherish. Henry and Killian behind the wheel of a sailboat, the most excited seven year old in history their first time out. Their first Christmas in Boston, the three of them sitting around the tree, happy and settled and a  _ family _ . 

 

How did he expect her to believe none of it was real? 

 

Killian shut the door quietly behind him and Emma spun around to face him.

 

“You can’t expect me to just… accept this,” she hissed. 

 

“It’s true, Emma.”

 

“It’s bullshit,” she countered. “Killian, it’s insane!”

 

He shook his head. “I admit, I’ve had many a day where I wondered if I had lost my mind, if I had imagined all this, if it really was just the book running away with me. But I knew in my gut it was all true. I just didn’t think we’d ever encounter it again. The curse… it was supposed to be forever. I’ve no idea what’s transpired, luv, but if your family is in danger--”

 

“I don’t have a family!” Emma yelled. “I have Henry and I have you and that is the end of my family and we are  _ fine _ !” 

 

Killian approached her slowly, in that way he had, like she was feral but he wasn’t worried about her hurting him, only herself when she inevitably lashed out. Then his arms were around her and she felt that same calm, that same safety she always felt, even in all this madness. His hand cradled the back of her head, his fingertips rubbing soothing little circles into her scalp as he pressed a kiss to her temple. 

 

“I know you’re afraid,” he whispered. 

 

“I’m not afraid,” she said, but that was exactly what it was. She was afraid her husband was crazy and even more afraid of the idea that he wasn’t. She’d spent her whole life knowing one thing for absolute certain: no one had ever wanted her, really wanted her, until Henry and having him changed her whole life. Her baby wanted her and then they met Killian and she suddenly knew what it was really like, having someone put you first, having someone be there, a husband and a father, the way no foster parent or assholes who dumped their kid by the side of the road ever could have. 

 

“Aye, I agree, you’re quite fearless,” he chuckled. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t know fear. I promise you,” he said quietly. “The truth is nothing to fear. You may not be terribly happy with it just yet, but the only thing it changes are some of the details. You’re Henry’s mother. You are the love of my bloody life. And your parents… wanted you, Emma. They wanted you more than anything and if I know them, they’re waiting for you to find them one last time.” 

 

He held the bottle up to her. The fucking memory potion. Like that was a real thing. 

 

She looked carefully into his eyes. “You aren’t telling me something.” 

 

“I’ve told you the truth,” he said quietly. “The one thing I can’t tell you is something only you can. And only when you’re truly yourself.” He pressed the bottle into her palm. “You’re a bloody hero, Swan. You’re incapable of doing anything but the right thing. Trust your gut, Emma. It’ll tell you what to do.” 

 

Her gut. The thing that had kind of believed this crazy story from the moment she heard it. The thing that knew there was something wrong with Killian all those months ago.

 

Emma took the potion. 

 

….

 

ONE YEAR AGO - THE TOWN LINE

 

“We’ll go back to the Enchanted Forest?” Emma clarified. 

 

Regina shook her head slightly. “All of us. Except Henry. He will stay here because… he was born here.”

 

Dread sunk like a stone in Emma’s belly. “Alone?” No, no Henry would  _ not _ be alone, abandoned by the side of the road - right where she was. 

 

“No,” Regina said, echoing the denial Emma felt. “You will take him. Because you’re the savior. And you were created to break the curse. And once again, you can escape it.” 

 

It should have been the answer to her prayers. Except… there was David and Mary Margaret, who had finally started to feel like her parents, the one she’d lain awake crying for more nights than she could count. There was Neal and he didn’t deserve to lose his son anymore than Henry deserved to lose his father. There was Regina, who had raised Henry… and there was Hook, who stood to the side, looking like something was dying right in front of him.

 

Emma knew how he felt.

 

“I-I don’t want to. We’ll both go back with everyone.”

 

Regina looked as gutted as Emma had ever seen her. “That’s not an option. I can’t be with him. If I don’t pay the price, none of this will work.” 

 

“If someone who wasn’t part of the original curse were to try and escape with them… would it work?” Hook asked, a considering look in his eye. 

 

Emma looked at him sharply. Some traitorous flutter of hope she hadn’t known existed flamed to life in her breast. Stupid hope. It never learned that life wasn’t fair.

 

“Perhaps,” Regina said. 

 

“What if Neal and I accompanied them?” He held a hand toward Emma. “Not that I doubt your ability to handle any foe with your usual brand of punching and kicking, but perhaps you need not start totally from scratch when it comes to rebuilding your lives.”

 

The hopeful look in Neal’s eyes died almost immediately when Regina spoke again.

 

“The magic in this curse comes from Pan. He designed it to punish Rumple most of all and as his son, Neal would be unable to escape.” Regina glanced at Hook. “The pirate, however… should have no problem escaping with you, if that’s what you want.”

 

“I prefer making my own choices in this world and frankly… there’s nothing left for me in the Enchanted Forest,” Hook said, but the way he looked at Emma, the way he didn’t disguise the longing in his eyes, made it very clear to her exactly why he wanted to go with them. 

 

The curse’s thunder sounded in the distance.

 

“Emma, you have to go,” Mary Margaret said firmly, holding back tears. “All of you, if you can,” she added, nodding toward Hook.

 

“No,” Emma said, the panic clawing up inside her. It felt like the social worker was coming again, forcing her to leave another home, another family, another life that she should have  _ known _ would be like all the others, but she always let herself hope, why didn’t she  _ learn _ \-- “N-no. I’m-I’m not… done. I’m the savior, right? I’m supposed to bring back all the happy endings. That’s what Henry always said.”

 

Mary Margaret smiled at her, a strong but fragile thing. “Happy endings aren’t always what we think they will be. Look around you. You’ve touched the lives of everyone here.” 

 

“But we’re a family,” Emma whimpered.

 

“Yes, and we  _ always _ will be,” she promised. “You gave us that.” 

 

“You and Henry can be a family,” David said, circling around them protectively. “You can get your wish. You can be like everyone else. You can be happy.” He jerked a thumb in Hook’s direction. “You can even take in a stray or two.” 

 

Mary Margaret laughed a little. “It’s time to believe in yourself, Emma. It’s time for you to have hope.” 

 

Regina moved closer to Emma, resolve written all over her face. “I’ve known you for some time and all I wanted was for you to get the hell out of my life so I can be with my son. But really… what I want is for Henry to be happy. We have no choice. You have to go.” 

 

Emma put on her big girl pants. “Okay.”

 

She said goodbye to Neal, again to her parents, to everyone - Henry took it hardest, of course, blaming himself, losing the dad he’d just met. Then Regina brought out the big guns.

 

“When the curse washes over us, it will send us all back. Nothing will be left behind. Including your memories. It’s just what the curse does. Storybrooke will no longer exist. It won’t ever have existed. So these last years will be gone from all your memories. Now we’ll go back to just being stories again.”

 

“What will happen to us?” Emma asked.

 

Regina shook her head. “I don’t know.”

 

“Doesn’t sound like much of a happy ending.”

 

Regina chuckled. “It’s not. But I can give you one. I can give you all a chance at one, least.”

 

“You can preserve our memories?” Emma asked hopefully.

 

“No, I can… do what I did to everyone else in this town. And give you new ones.”

 

“You cursed them and they were miserable,” Emma reminded her.

 

“They didn’t have to be.” Regina took Emma’s hands. “My gift to you is good memories, a good life for you and--” She looked to Henry, who moved to her side. “Henry. You’ll have never given him up. You’ll have always been together.” 

 

It was probably the first truly selfless gift Regina had given anyone in decades. The idea of it - of never having given Henry up - was something Emma would have said she wanted more than anything… until now. 

 

Regina gestured toward Hook. “I know what to do with them, but what sort of connection do you want?” 

 

Hook looked at Emma. “Perhaps… new friends? Headed on an adventure in the same direction? It’ll be up to us then, what happens next.” 

 

Emma nodded her head slowly. “Up to us. Yeah. Good.” But something about it didn’t sit right with her. She hugged her parents again, said as much of a goodbye as she could get out, then she and Henry were shuffling to the bug. Killian was speaking with Regina in low tones, an insistent look on his face. And then he was piling into the car with them, the back seat, throwing her a pained smile. Regina had changed his clothes, given him a prosthetic hand in place of a hook. He looked… good. 

 

“This is quite the vessel you captain, Swan.” 

 

She returned his pained smile. It was probably the last thing he would ever say to her as… well, as  _ him _ . This was the last time she was ever going to see Captain Killian Jones, Captain Hook. Where they were going… he was going to be someone else, more than she was. Because at least she would still be Emma Swan, just with a few years patched in here and there. She’d grown up in that world. Killian didn’t. He was from a literal fairy tale and he was going to be shoved into the Land Without Magic. 

 

Who was he going to be? 

 

But Emma didn’t have time to think about that. Because the curse was coming. She put the bug in gear. Kept her eyes on the rear view mirror as long as she could…

 

… Henry smiled at her. Emma shook her head, lost in thought. Killian was in the backseat, hoping to catch a few winks before they traded off in a few hours. He looked wide awake. His eyes met hers. She smiled. He tried to smile back. Something was bothering him.

 

Emma decided she’d ask him about it after they got to Boston.

 

….

 

They stared at each other for a long time. Emma felt the bottle drop slowly out of her hand. It bounced off the carpeted floor of their bedroom and she swallowed the last of its taste from her mouth. 

 

“Hook,” she whispered. 

 

“Aye,” he agreed sadly. 

 

Both sets of memories were fighting in her head - the way she’d believed they met and fallen in love for the last year and the way they really met and… 

 

It felt like her husband was dead, which was ridiculous, because he was right in front of her, staring at her without a drop of hope in his eyes - he looked as though his wife was dead, too. 

 

In a way, she was. 

 

“What the hell happened?” she muttered. 

 

He shook his head. “I did nothing but consider that when we first arrived here. I can only assume something went wrong or perhaps Regina decided this would be easier for us and did what she liked.” He shrugged. “After awhile, the why of it didn’t seem to matter as much as what I was meant to do now. Assuming I hadn’t simply lost my mind, which I confess I seriously considered for a time.” He tapped the side of his head. “The memories were all so real and in this world, the idea that I’d invented a three hundred year old pirate often seemed more plausible than the idea that it was all so tragically real.” 

 

“You lied to me,” she whispered, trying not to cry. It wasn’t a fair accusation - she probably understood what he’d done better than he ever would. But Emma didn’t feel terribly fair at the moment. She felt like everything she’d ever wanted had just been ripped away from her.

 

“I didn’t know what to do,” he pled. “Anything I chose would hurt you somehow. I didn’t think we’d ever go back, so in the end, it seemed the best option in a sea of bad choices.”

 

“So you just decided to fake it for the rest of your life?” 

 

“Don’t,” he warned. “You can hate me if you like, but you know damned well what I feel for you is real.” 

 

“What I know is that all of the fake bullshit in my head made me think I loved you,” Emma hissed. “It ruined whatever spark of something, of possibility that was between us. Oh, God - Henry. How the hell do we explain this to Henry?” 

 

“We don’t,” Killian said quietly. “Not yet, at least. There was only one potion. My feelings for him haven’t changed either, so it should be no problem to continue  _ faking _ it for the boy’s sake.”

 

The bitterness in his voice was as heartbreaking as it was infuriating. Emma had a powder keg of rage inside of her and absolutely no one else to direct it at. 

 

“Your feelings may be real, but I feel taken advantage of, like we were both taken advantage of,” she whispered. “I get that you were backed into a corner, but it doesn’t change the fact that I feel like an idiot who got tricked.” 

 

His face looked stricken. “I didn’t - I never intended--”

 

But Emma didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Mostly because she was afraid of how terrified she was - it felt like nothing in her life was real, was  _ hers _ , definitely not in her control. She was going to keep lashing out at him if they kept talking and she’d already done enough damage. Deep down inside, she knew this wasn’t his fault - but the emotions that were in the driver’s seat didn’t particularly care. 

 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly. “I was kidding myself. This life? It was never real. It was never in the cards for the Savior. We have to go back. I have to save everyone. Because that’s what I do.” 

 

She spun away from him before he could say anything else and pulled down suitcases for both of them by habit. She knew what they’d both need. 

 

“Pack a bag for Henry,” she ordered. “We’ll pick him up early from school and head back to Storybrooke. Assuming it’s actually there,” she added bitterly.

 

At the last moment, Emma grabbed the one thing she knew she’d need - her red leather jacket. Her armor. The reminder she needed of who she really was and who she was never meant to be. 

 

…

 

The drive seemed to take a lot longer than it actually did, given Storybrooke was only a couple of hours from Boston. Henry had been ecstatic at the idea of a spontaneous work trip, “just like old times!” and he’d been quite taken with sharing his backseat with Tinkerbell, who kindly confirmed for him that yes, it was her real name. They made up a story about her being a big fan of Killian’s books and that’s how she found Emma. It made her skin crawl, lying to Henry. It made her skin crawl how easily Killian did it. Then again, she was no slouch - she basically lied for a living. Everything made her skin crawl, really. She was ashamed to admit that if someone told her everyone in Storybrooke would be safe without her, she would take the fake memories over reality in a heartbeat. 

 

She was almost surprised when the town line was there, right where she’d last seen it. 

 

They crossed over without incident, dropping Tink off at the convent to check in with the other fairies, assuming everyone was back again. Killian offered to get Henry settled while Emma went to check in with her parents - if everyone was under another curse, they agreed, it would be best if she tried to reason with them alone. 

 

Something she didn’t have to do, it turned out. Her father hugged her, and it was so strange and so comforting all at once that Emma had to stop herself from bursting into tears. Her massively pregnant mother hugged her, too, and Emma tried to keep all the confusion and jealousy and reluctant happiness at bay. She needed to focus on the problem at hand - whatever had brought everyone back had also taken the last year of their memories away, which meant everyone still needed to be on red alert. Emma didn’t have time to feel like an outsider in the only family that was supposed to be real to her. She had Henry and that would always, always be enough. 

 

When she returned to the room they were renting at Granny’s - Henry would never understand why they were staying with David and Mary Margaret and the loft was cramped plus Emma was avoiding the Hook-is-sort-of-my-husband reveal as long as possible - Henry was fast asleep on the pull out bed in the main room. Killian was sitting in a chair in the bedroom, staring out the window - brooding. 

 

On his left arm, was a familiar silver hook. 

 

He gestured toward her with it after she’d shut the door. “Belle confirms it turned up in the pawn shop when the town did. No sign of the Crocodile. Or Neal.” 

 

Neal. She hadn’t given him much thought, something that made her feel guilty - he was Henry’s father and even if Henry didn’t know him now, he would again.

 

“There are more people missing,” Emma said quietly. “David says they’ve had a hard time getting a head count because there are new people, too.” 

 

Killian pursed his lips. “New people could mean the person who cast the curse. No one really thinks it was Regina, as her memories seem to be as lost as the rest.” 

 

“You don’t believe that?” Emma asked.

 

He shrugged. “I made my desires for our curse very explicit to her and again when she took my hook and gave me modern clothing. I’ve no idea why she decided to torture me this way, but it was quite effective, don’t you think?” It was then she noticed he’d also found his old flask and by the looks of him, he’d been indulging since Henry went to bed. 

 

“I doubt she was trying to torture you,” Emma argued. 

 

“Who knows why the Evil Queen does anything she does?” He shook his head. “At any rate, whatever her reasons, the blame still lies with me.” 

 

“Hook,” Emma admonished, and his moniker felt as sharp on her tongue as the hook that was once again reunited with his left arm. 

 

“I swore that I would win your heart without any trickery and the first chance I got, I made a mockery of that vow.” He took a heavy swig from his flask. “I assure you, Swan, however much you hate me, I hate myself more.” 

 

_ I don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever could. I’ve just never been able to take the chance that every instinct I have about you is wrong, the way they always are about a guy I really, really like. And nothing in the whole world feels real to me anymore.  _

 

Her heart was the one place Emma was not brave, at least not the Emma who hadn’t been cursed by Regina. So she went into the bathroom to change into pajamas and when she emerged, he was still brooding out the window, like some kind of guardian gargoyle. 

 

She climbed under the covers. “Come to bed,” she ordered. “Henry won’t understand if you sleep somewhere else.” That wasn’t why she wanted him to come to bed, of course, but it was the only reason she could admit out loud. 

 

He was silent for a long moment, then muttered a bitter “As you wish” and joined her in bed, atop the covers. 

 

Emma refused to let herself cry.

 

….

 

Regina was devastated Henry didn’t remember her. Emma felt bad for her, particularly when she witnessed a very angry Killian - once again sporting his prosthetic instead of a hook - obviously interrogating her about her role in his half cursed state of being. Emma imagined she told him a version of what she’d told Emma herself - that she hadn’t done anything other than what they’d asked and if things got screwed up, it wasn’t her problem. Emma tended to believe her, mostly because Regina never could give up a chance to gloat when something she’d done had made her enemies miserable.

 

Which wasn’t really fair, because Regina was as miserable as a person could be with Henry not knowing who she was, but Emma still didn’t feel much like being fair. 

 

David looked like he wanted to murder Hook when they dropped the marriage bomb, but Emma quickly diffused the situation by very loudly reminding him they were both cursed. Killian opened his mouth to stupidly confess his sins, but Emma elbowed him in the ribs to keep him quiet. 

 

“The last thing we need is David going psycho protective dad on you,” she explained later. “Besides, this part is between you and me. No one else.” 

 

That was also the excuse Emma gave herself not to mention the status of her relationship to Mary Margaret. The Queen of Hope would probably pounce on the idea that Emma still had feelings for her fake husband and that was the last thing Emma needed to be distracted by when they had a town to save. 

 

It surprised no one but Emma when their new foe was revealed to be the Wicked Witch. They still had no idea  _ who _ she was, but tensions were running high and everyone had started snapping at each other. Emma knew she was the number one offender, but that did little to cool her always at the ready temper. She didn’t know how to stop being so angry, how to stop grieving her broken heart over her fake marriage, how to separate the Killian she’d lived with for the last year from the real thing, how to just get over it already. 

 

It was after a particularly heated argument Emma and Killian had in front of everyone in the middle of their room at Granny’s over Henry’s wellbeing - Emma wanted Killian to take him back to Boston and Killian argued the boy was safer here, with both his magical mothers and the rest of his family around him - that Regina apparently finally had enough. She waited until the others had filed out before she pulled Emma aside. 

 

“I didn’t want to say anything. It’s not my place. But Emma, you have to realize what this was.” 

 

“Why?” Emma muttered. “What was it?” 

 

Regina shook her head sadly. “You really don’t know, do you? Funny how I’d forgotten how stubbornly rigid you are.” 

 

“If you have a point, I’d appreciate you getting to it.” 

 

“Fine.” Regina mirrored her defiant stance. “I gave Hook cursed memories along with yours, that’s why he had them rolling around in there. But he wasn’t supposed to be your husband, he was supposed to be an author Henry admired that moved in next door who was victim to the same fire that ruined all of your things - an experience that bonded you and had you agreeing to share a ride to your new home in Boston. That was the reality I put in your heads. He definitely wasn’t supposed to remember he was a 300 year old pirate Captain who specializes in making googoo eyes at you.” 

 

Emma shook her head. “You already told us this--”

 

“My magic didn’t do this,” Regina said, raising her voice. “Yours did.” 

 

Emma’s eyes widened. “What? I didn’t do--”

 

“You’re like a baby with a blowtorch,” Regina muttered. “You have no idea how powerful you are and you refuse to learn. You didn’t want Hook to be someone you could lose, someone who could fall through the cracks. So you made sure he was tied to you and Henry, tied as deeply as possible in the Land Without Magic. You made him Henry’s father so he didn’t have to grow up without one and you made him your husband because you wanted him.”

 

“Look, I don’t need your pop psychology--”

 

“And,” Regina said, louder still, “you made sure he kept his memories because you didn’t want the fake version of Killian Jones I would have had to create for him to exist in the modern world. You wanted the real thing. You wanted him to love you the same way he always has. No substitutions for Miss Swan, hm?” Regina shook her head. “Get a handle on your magic. We have something wicked to fight. And get a handle on your love life, because the way things stand right now? Your mopey, guilt ridden pirate is going to get himself killed. And while that wouldn’t exactly be the worst thing that ever happened, I imagine Henry would be fairly upset by it.” 

 

Emma tried to fold her arms in the intimidating way she’d used since she was young, but she feared they were more cradling her chest, forcing her heart to stay in place than anything else. . “You’re just guessing,” she said stubbornly. 

 

“Maybe you’re right,” Regina said suddenly. “Maybe I am wrong. Because the only way you’d be able to override Pan’s curse and my alterations to it, would be if you truly loved one another. And to be frank, I’m not sure you believe in anything enough to truly love someone other than Henry. I’m not sure if I do anymore, either.” Regina gestured toward the door. “He’s staying with your parents tonight. He’s excited about having the loft bed to himself. I suggest you use the time to put your house in order.” 

 

Rolling her eyes at Regina’s imperious tone, Emma tried to deny everything she’d just said as the other woman left her alone. 

 

The trouble was, it all rang frighteningly, embarrassingly true. 

 

Emma sank down to the end of the bed and forced herself to sort through her shit. The last year, Killian’s behavior, how hard he’d tried to both stay away from her and be with her. What the hell did she expect him to do? She had as much as told him so - he had to make a choice and then live with it. And if Regina was right --  _ and goddamnit, she is, she’s right _ \-- Emma had done this to him either because she was so selfish that she wanted him, the  _ real _ him, even if he wasn’t getting entirely the real her… or, even more terrifying, it had happened unconsciously because she loved him.

 

Truly.

 

Before she could think about it much further, the outer door opened and closed quietly and she heard Killian’s hesitant footfalls come closer. 

 

“Swan,” he said tightly. “Henry’s with your parents. Since he won’t be with us, I thought I’d give you a night of peace by seeking my accommodations elsewhere.” 

 

He was very carefully looking just over her head, his expression intentionally blank. She’d been hurting him, punishing him the way he’d always feared she would and all he’d done was the best he could in an impossible situation. He’d tried to protect her heart at every turn, even when his own was hurting and confused and at war with that strange moral compass he’d always had. 

 

This had to stop. Now. 

 

“Regina said something to me tonight,” Emma said, her voice hoarse. 

 

Killian finally looked at her. “Swan, are you crying?” he asked, the worry flooding his tone.

 

“Am I?” Emma reached her hand up to touch the tear tracks that had made their way down her cheeks. “I guess I am. It’s funny, when you make it a rule that you won’t let anything make you cry anymore… it kind of sneaks up on you.” 

 

“What the hell did Regina say to you?” Now he looked murderous again, which was kind of sweet, actually. That was her life - a murderous pirate fake-husband. For a kid who grew up alone and unloved, it actually didn’t sound too bad.

 

“This is all my fault,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. Killian, I’m sorry.” 

 

“Hey,” he soothed, flipping from murderous to concerned in a heartbeat. “If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that none of this is your fault.” 

 

“Killian, I’m so damaged that even my magic is repressed and it only comes out when I’m desperately afraid of losing something,” she explained. “Regina thinks - and I do, too, I mean, I don’t think, I  _ know _ \- all of those walls I have, those stupid walls, it’s why you were basically tortured for a year. I did it. I didn’t want some fake version of you living down the hall. I wanted you. And my magic just… did it. You didn’t trick me. If anything, I’m the one who tricked you, except… I guess I didn’t, because you always knew how you felt.” Emma didn’t know what else to say and Killian was looking at her with the most inscrutable expression. “I could use a little feedback here,” she prompted. 

 

He shook his head, as if coming out of a daze. “You called me Killian.” His voice was tinged with wonder. 

 

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s your name.” 

 

“You haven’t called me anything but Hook since you remembered,” he said. “You haven’t…” 

 

Her chest hurt again from how much she’d hurt him. “Stupid walls,” she offered, the only explanation she had. 

 

Killian took a step toward her, then another, until he could fall to his knees at her feet. He took her hand in his, brought the back of it to his mouth for a kiss. She was still wearing her fake wedding ring. So was he. She still had Liam’s ring around her neck. His actual ring, if she was a betting woman - her magic had made sure the moments they shared with false memories were still as real as a land without magic could allow them to be. 

 

“I like your walls,” Killian confided, as if telling her a secret. He looked up at her with the tenderest expression in his blue, blue eyes. It didn’t really matter if she met him on a crowded sidewalk or under a pile of bodies - it was understanding at first sight and everything they’d shared had been real, even the things that weren’t. 

 

“I think I was right before,” she whispered back. “No one else could have loved me well enough to bring them down.” 

 

“Oh, Emma,” he chuffed. “I don’t know if you give me too much credit or yourself too little. Perhaps both.” 

 

“How do you do this?” she muttered. “How do you love me like this? Like it’s just… easy? I’m not… i’m not easy. I know I’m not. But it’s as if you just…  _ like _ me this way.” 

 

“Funny, isn’t it?” he murmured. “Almost as funny as you liking me the way I am - all tortured, revenge obsessed-turned-Emma Swan obsessed, so much that you forced me to stay exactly who I was even in the face of an unbreakable curse.” 

 

Emma groaned. “Your ego is never going to come back down to earth after this.” 

 

“Aye,” he agreed cheerfully. “But this is the monster you created. You’re going to have to live with him.” 

 

Emma brought her palms to his cheeks; stroked his ridiculous cheekbones with her thumbs, paying extra attention to the scar on his right. He was perfect, even in the places that weren’t. Real, even the ways he hadn’t been. No one else would have been right - would have been  _ this _ right. No one else would have had her magic crying out at the idea of taking any part of him away. 

 

“I guess I can do that,” she promised, resting her forehead against his.

 

She had to play it a little cool. He still had to be the grown up in the relationship. 

 

…

 

They buried Neal. 

 

Henry got his memories back. Everyone did. 

 

They beat the witch. 

 

Emma’s little brother was the most perfect baby she’d ever seen. 

 

Until eight months later, when little Hope came screaming into the world. 

 

Henry was the best man at their wedding - the one the whole town and one very fussy baby attended. 

 

The fake memories had been good. Really, really good. 

 

The real ones were better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! I'm so, so glad this is finally a complete story for an absolutely wonderful person - Christmas in March, woohoo! And i'm so, so grateful to the csmarchmadness event which was exactly the gun to my head I needed to force the time for this! Another shoutout to xemmaloveskillianx, whose amazing story Unbreakable is like, the benchmark for all post 3A canon divergent fics. I hope everyone reading enjoyed this as much as I've enjoyed bringing this little tale to life!


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